


Hardest Substances

by polysyndeta



Series: Triumvirate [6]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Barebacking, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Enemas, M/M, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, but not in detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polysyndeta/pseuds/polysyndeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You took a fist up the arse for Kingsman?"  Eggsy laughs like he's saying the words, <i>ha ha ha</i>.</p><p>"It was easier than shooting my dog," Merlin says calmly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hardest Substances

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #1: _Merlin likes it a bit rougher, especially when he's getting fucked. Eggsy always tries to be tender and is worried about hurting him, so Merlin has to coax him into fucking him as hard as he likes._
> 
> _Bonus if you include Harry showing Eggsy how Merlin likes it - either by demonstrating or by talking Eggsy through it. Or both._
> 
> Prompt #2: _What it says in the title. Slow, gentle fisting, preferably with a focus on trust/intimacy, the top getting off on that kind of surrender, the bottom just getting completely wrecked in all the best ways. I'm mostly an OT3 shipper (for example Harry giving Merlin orders while Merlin fists Eggsy, Merlin reassuring Eggsy while Harry fists Eggsy, Merlin getting fisted by Harry while Eggsy pets him all over ...), but any combination of Harry/Merlin/Eggsy works for me._

Harry fucks Merlin like a dog mounting a bitch: hammering snaps of his hips, pelvis slamming into the meat of his backside with a wet _smack - smack - smack_. 

"Sweet Christ - Harry - that the best you got?"

Merlin's shoulders are crushed into the mattress, head turned to one side as he pants harsh wet breaths into the pillow. Eggsy lies next to him, spent and sex-flushed: staring at Merlin's red face, his panting mouth. His eyes are wide.

"I'll show you _best_ , you cheeky little - _shit_ \- "

The sound of their bodies impacting grows louder and more violent. His hole is sloppy with lube, the gel molten with the heat of their coupling, rolling over his balls in fat droplets. He pushes back into the thrusts. Swallows Harry's throbbing-hot prick with his arse just as hungrily as he would with his lips, and Harry's equally brutal with it. And just as apt to take his breath away.

"Merlin - _God_ \- so lovely. You'll always - be this way for me - won't you?"

A hand snakes under his body, finds a nipple, pinches and pulls and _twists_ until Merlin sobs.

"I come home - you're rolling over - showing me that tight little arsehole you like to get _stuffed_ so much."

Each snatch of breathless speech punctuated by merciless thrusts. Merlin just groans. Ever since Harry found his tongue, he's been a terror with it. It puts an entirely different and more vivid colour on his prior experience of being roughly, near-silently fucked.

" _Mm_ , not tight enough. You can do better. Show me."

Harry cracks a hand across his arse, quick and sharp as the kiss of a whip. Eggsy sucks in a quick breath. Merlin clenches all over and inside, involuntarily, prompting a bitten-off curse and a thrust so rough and reckless and _right_ that it shoves him forward, off his knees, knocking him flat onto his front. His prick gets trapped between his belly and the soft sheets that feel far too rough against the tender flesh - and Harry just doesn't stop. Doesn't give him time. Just brackets his thighs with his knees and fucks hard into his twitching, aching hole. 

His cock is bare. It's once in a blue moon that they fuck raw, when there's been six months of all-clear test results and not a single smear of any third party's fluids having breached either of their bodies. But when they do, _Christ._ Harry's got a hand to the back of his neck now, _barely_ enough of a push to constrict his breathing, and the other curled around his hip.

The mattress creaks and rocks like a ship at sea. Harry fucks like it's an act of violence: it's in the pounding of his hips, the clench of killer's hands against Merlin's skin, the total lack of softness or compromise in his touch. And yet when they fuck like this - when Harry brings the killer into bed - they do it from behind, because Harry's eyes will always be soft and foolish with affection.

"Give him a hand, Eggsy, there's a good lad," Harry says, and it'd sound like he was asking him to help change the sheets or take the recycling out, if only he wasn't talking over the sound of his own prick driving hard and relentless into the grasping, hungry mouth he's made of Merlin's arsehole.

Eggsy _is_ a good lad, Merlin thinks dimly as a fist wraps around his cock, he's just not quite as _firm_ as he'd like. He wants to _feel_ those calluses abrading his skin, sparking hot friction against the throbbing veins. But with Harry pounding into his prostate and slim, clever fingers working at the head of his cock, with his throat almost closed and the edges of his vision beginning to blur, he can make his peace with not having quite _everything_ he wants. He comes to the sensation of Harry plowing his spunk deep into his body and the sound of Eggsy swearing helplessly against his shoulder.

Harry carefully eases himself out and lowers his body down along his right-hand side. Eggsy lifts his head.

"You alright?" he says, to Merlin. Merlin nods against the pillowcase and just _breathes_ , a day's worth of stubble burning gently across the Egyptian cotton. 

"Yes, I'm alright."

"But he was a bit..."

Harry clears his throat with a delicacy that ought to be foreign to someone who did what he just did. (One does not use _he_ to refer to someone in one's company.)

"Merlin can take it just as well as you can, Eggsy."

Merlin feels fingers, slimmer than Harry's and slightly clammy with cooled sweat, tracing the dip of his spine and then swerving away from the crevice between his arse cheeks. He can imagine the edge of the red handprint that those fingertips are carefully tracing and he'd like some pressure there, firm and sure, kneading the sting deep into the muscle. Maybe leaving a bruise, so he's got something to remember this by when his agents are on assignment and he's got nothing to do but watch them from a thousand miles away and it's all he can do to _try_ to bring them home alive.

"I like it a little rough, Eggsy," he agrees, and the hint of reproach has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with his buzz being harshed, as the kids (used to) say (in the early nineties, when he was not a kid). "Are you really so surprised?"

" _No_ ," he says, sounding bullishly adolescent. "Just looked like it 'urt."

"It did," Merlin says with relish.

"Would you like to take a look?" Harry asks, gently. And then, because he's a fucking monster on the quiet, reaches over to the bedside table. "Put your glasses on, Eggsy."

"Sick," Eggsy mutters, but he reaches for his specs anyway. Merlin has learnt that some words in Eggsy's lexicon - _sick, nasty_ \- have meanings entirely dependent on tone and context. This time it seems good.

Harry carefully slides Merlin's tablet over his (drool-damp, slightly chewed) pillow. It takes Merlin a moment to adjust to the out-of-body experience this always is: his own body viewed through someone else's eyes, spread out and molten. At first he always used to focus on the negative - is his arse sagging a bit? is that a freckle or a mole? - but now he watches the cinematography and all he can see is the helpless lust that can't keep Eggsy's gaze away from his backside. 

"Spread him open." Harry; low and husky.

Merlin simultaneously sees and feels those same hands, Eggsy's, rest on his arse, pushing his buttocks apart. He sees his own wet, scarlet hole, swollen and _used_. It's not completely closed yet; there's still just a tiny dark void visible just inside the rim. Eggsy's so close that a shuddering exhalation makes him twitch and spasm and push up for it, just a bit. He feels wet trickling from him, sees the viscous white against pink skin, and Eggsy makes a noise that's borderline inhuman.

"You're fucking _leaking_. I - let me grab summat to clean you up," Eggsy whispers, but Harry clears his throat gently.

"Allow me, sweet."

And then Harry leans down, arcing past Eggsy's peripheral vision, _lower_. Merlin's view jolts as Eggsy startles in realisation, and then his view is full of the back of Harry's head.

"What the fu-- that is fucked _up_ , Harry."

But Merlin isn't watching any more, isn't listening, he's just groaning like a porn star for the wet slip of Harry's tongue across his dripping hole.

By the time Harry's done, Eggsy's sporting a renewed, highly confused erection. Harry carefully rolls a rubber and a handful of lube over his cock and Merlin opens his eyes to watch the boy sink into him, fucking him with heartbreaking gentleness until he shivers into orgasm inside Merlin's sore, pliant body.

The next day, Harry is posted to Sarajevo. Eggsy, against protest, is put on a low-level surveillance job in Totnes of all fucking places, watching an ecoterrorist group working out of an organic bakery in Devon's heartland of genteel middle-class hippies. This seems to be exactly as boring as it sounds, hence Merlin finds himself with a chavvy voice in his ear every time he's available for contact. (And if he _makes_ himself available for contact a little more often than is usual, that's neither here nor there, is it.)

_"Does it still 'urt?"_

Three days after the fact. Merlin sips his tea and remotely disables the audio recording facility in Eggsy's glasses.

"Do you actually have a report for me, Eggsy?"

_"Hollywood an' Berry have just been bickerin' about spelt flour for half the day. Smith an' Lawson are still out. Planted the bugs this mornin'. This mission is bollocks. Does it still 'urt?"_

"The odd twinge. You know, Eggsy, I'm struggling to understand how you can be making such a fucking fuss about one hard shag when you've had both our cocks in your arse. Can't imagine you weren't feeling _that_ for a few days."

 _"Course I was,"_ and this can't be mistaken as anything but a fond memory. _"But you're not...s'different."_

"Different _how_?"

_"Well, you know. You ain't like us."_

And Merlin _does_ know, of course. 

It isn't a question of _softness_. Nobody's stupid enough to think that Merlin isn't every bit as competent as any of the agents he runs in the field, every bit as deadly - maybe even moreso, it being the case that he has to first be that good and then (periodically) teach nine other candidates to _also_ be that good. Arthur's position is a promotion, and not everyone promoted to that chair can hack it (Chester King apparently included); Merlin's is hired for, because it requires a greater breadth of skills than the vast majority of Kingsmen will ever need or use. He plans missions, handles agents in the field, oversees the tech department, trains recruits, picks apart petabytes of data on a weekly basis for even a scrap, a _scent_ of something useful. He is the designated magician because he has to be superhuman.

It doesn't surprise him that it can lead people to handle him lightly, respectful almost to the point of stiltedness. Lancelot rarely says two words to him that aren't _yes, Merlin_ ; even Arthur-nee-Percival is wary of him (and, pleasingly, has yet to deny a single expenses request). Eggsy was a little shit until Merlin pulled his ripcord on the front lawn, and then even _he_ fell right the fuck into line, for the most part.

It's not to do with anyone thinking he's weak, or vulnerable. He thought it was, for a long time. In his twenties, even his early thirties, it was frustrating. His bone of contention was that they'd survived a training-cum-selection process twice as long and punishing as any knight's; he could do their jobs and moreover he could (and would, and did) tell them how to do their jobs _better_ ; how the fuck did they think they could justify treating him with kid gloves?

It took Harry - who had five years under his belt when he was just a candidate, whose own proposal was the first to leave, who treated him like a gentleman over drinks and left bruises when he fucked him afterwards - to adjust his perspective slightly.

 _"Diamond is one of the world's hardest substances,"_ he said lightly, _"but it's also one of the most precious. Hence, if I were to put a cut stone in your hand you'd instinctively handle it as it were fragile."_

And then Merlin had snarked something about the world's hardest substance and gone down on him, because they'd been in the shower at the time, but the point was made regardless.

It's just not that easy to articulate to subordinates who are, despite themselves, _slightly_ afraid of him.

"In this context, Eggsy, I am _very_ much like you. And you're not doing me any favours by acting like I'm not."

 _"Oh."_ And - bless him - Eggsy is not one to let it lie when he's conscious of having made a mistake. _"What can I do? To, I dunno. Fix it."_

"What you've already done? Nothing. But if we're discussing our future, there's something I've not done for a while that I think you'd be suited to."

_"Yeah, what?"_

Merlin tells him.

There's a silence.

 _"Fisting,"_ Eggsy repeats.

"Yes."

_"So, my whole hand."_

"Yes."

_"Up your arse."_

"By Jove, I think he's catching on."

 _"Shut up."_ Merlin wishes, a bit meanly, that he could see him - his hectic flush, his little scowl when someone's gotten his back up. _"Are you fuckin' serious? You're not tryin' to make a point or nothin'?"_

"Deadly serious, Eggsy. Don't tell me you've never seen this in porn, I _am_ privy to everything you do on the headquarters' wi-fi."

It doesn't surprise him at all that this doesn't prompt a pause for shame or embarrassed bluster.

 _"Well, yeah, I've seen **girls** do it. An' that's - it's - nobody ever needs to push a baby out their arse,"_ he says, untidily making a point about the capacity of two very different orifices. _"I'd tear you in half. You really done it before?"_

"A girlfriend at university. And a mark, once, when the situation demanded I go into the field."

_"You took a fist up the arse for Kingsman?"_ Eggsy laughs like he's saying the words, _ha ha ha_.

"It was easier than shooting my dog," Merlin says calmly.

There's another lengthy silence which he knows they're both spending on contemplating a parallel universe where the candidates' final test is decidedly different.

_"An' Harry's never done it with you?"_

"We tried, once. His hands are a little too broad."

But Christ, it had been intense. Four fingers buried in his arse, making it feel less like a natural opening and more like an open wound, red and _stretched_. Even today he still feels like he could have taken it but he remembers the shivering dismay in Harry's voice - _I'm sorry, love, I don't think I can, I don't want to hurt you_ \- and the way he had kissed him afterwards to tell him it was alright. How loose and soft he'd felt when he'd begged Harry to fuck him; how easily he'd taken it, just a gentle easy stroke into his wrecked arse.

 _"I'll need to Google it first,"_ Eggsy says decisively, and then his marks arrive and he has to go quiet to start his word in earnest. 

Two weeks later, Harry is on recuperative leave - his presence in Novo Sarajevo wasn't entirely well-received - but there's a chasm between being unable to serve on a mission and being unable to share a bed with two red-blooded men. They catch up at Merlin's over a glass of wine - _this is older'n I am_ , Eggsy remarks as he looks at the vintage, and Merlin notices that Harry doesn't frown - and then they part ways for a while. The matter of preparation was raised and Eggsy started pulling one of his more intense _nah, bruv_ faces about twenty seconds into Harry's calm explanation of what giving an enema involves. They relented immediately; Harry takes Merlin upstairs and gets things set up, testing the water temperature against his inner wrist like you'd check the heat of a baby's formula.

"I really hadn't realised this was something you were still hankering for," Harry says mildly. 

"Think _hankering_ is a bit strong, Harry." Merlin lies on his side on a thick folded towel which he insisted on not needing, only to be lovingly ignored. "But I'd be a fool to ignore the possibility." He exhales as an oiled finger presses at his arse; it is to what's coming later as the touch of a needle is to a shotgun blast, but he's still sensitive to it.

"And this isn't to make a point about being handled delicately, of course."

Merlin shrugs with his uppermost shoulder. No point in bullshitting. "Can't see why it couldn't be both."

He's rewarded with a teasing tap against his prostate that makes him shiver. A moment later the finger withdraws, replaced with the more unfamiliar press of the tube. He hears himself make a quiet, strained sound for the alien sensation of water pouring into his body; Harry looks to his face, attentive as only a professional observer can be.

"I'm sorry - too hot, too cold?"

"Neither, Harry. Just been a while."

Harry leaves him alone to finish up, shower and start drying off. From under the weight of the towel, beyond the bathroom door, he hears a quiet conversation ongoing as Harry leads Eggsy upstairs from the living room:

"...not doin' the tie stuff, then?"

"Not this time."

"Only all the stuff I read..."

"The association with the BDSM scene is quite common, but whether one treats it that way is an individual choice."

"Mmph."

"Besides, this is more or less new to both of us," Harry admits, and Merlin hears something like shyness in his voice. "And furthermore a quite...physically extreme experience. I think you would rather be free to simply stop or be stopped, wouldn't you? As opposed to worrying about the proper language."

"...Yeah."

They're on the other side of the door at that point. Merlin senses a cue, lets himself into the bedroom. They both smile at him; Eggsy nervy but excited, Harry calm and a little baleful with leftover guilt. _Daft sod_ , Merlin thinks fondly.

For a while it's business as usual, in a way. Clothes come off; it's hard to tell which hands loose the belt of his dressing gown, slip Harry's heavy cardigan from his shoulders, lift Eggsy's hips to slide his jeans down those long slim legs. Though Merlin's thrown for a moment: he feels Harry's soft, smooth fingertips stroking his hips, then they're simultaneously tracing over his temples. He opens his eyes and sees Eggsy's nails lightly dragging over his pelvis.

"Did you get a _manicure_ , Eggsy?"

Eggsy sucks at his teeth for a second. "Di'n't wanna snag the glove on nothin'."

Merlin pulls him up and kisses him. It's one of the few ways Eggsy's never gentled him: there's something almost upsetting about the way he does this. He kisses like a starving man eats, when he doesn't know where his next meal is coming from or if it's coming at all. He doesn't finesse. He sucks Merlin's tongue and bites his lips and moans for it. And when another warm body insinuates itself alongside Merlin's, a quiet sweet voice murmuring _do you mind if I...?_ , the boy fucking _whimpers_. A kiss that's passionate between two becomes obscene between three, tongues stroking, lips barely brushing. Merlin turns for a moment to kiss Harry full-on, then licks his taste into Eggsy's mouth. A palm - Eggsy's - curls around his cock and tugs at the swelling flesh, just a little too dry and rough, the friction making him mad. Harry ducks his head and bites his left nipple.

It's good. Every bit of it is just perfectly fucking lovely - but like any marginally obsessive spy handler, he can't help but feel like they're drifting off-mission. 

Fortunately, so does Eggsy: "We gonna get on with this shit, then?"

Harry nuzzles at him. "Only if you're - "

"I'm fuckin' sure." He doesn't sound irate, just urgent, but it comes off as snappy all the same; Merlin pinches lightly at the back of his neck with a thumb and forefinger, like a dog would correct a puppy. Eggsy goes still; he _shivers_ and his eyes fall closed for a moment. Merlin and Harry exchange looks over the top of his head and they both silently mark that down as a possible topic to be raised later.

But later could be centuries away for all he cares. Right now is Merlin going onto his hands and knees, Harry's body stretched out below him, Eggsy kneeling behind him. Cautious hands stroking his arse, weighing the full swell of his bollocks in cupped fingers.

"Can I lick your arse?"

Merlin feels a tremor in his arms and abruptly has to lock his elbows. "Jesus Christ, you're seriously asking me that? Bon appetit, Eggsy."

The lack of caution surprises him. No butterflies, no flickering kisses growing steadily sloppier: just wet, flexing muscle sliding firm and _hot_ across his arsehole. He jerks his hips forward and Eggsy fucking follows him in, hands gripping his arse cheeks, thumbs tugging him wide open.

"You like that, don't you," Harry whispers in his ear, "that hungry little mouth on your snatch," and that's when Eggsy decides to push the tip of his tongue _inside_ him and he forgets how to breathe. That Eggsy manages to get gloved and lubed - he hears the snap of latex on skin, the click of a bottle cap - while continuing to give him a _thorough_ rimjob makes him feel stupid with lust and perversely proud of how expertly the boy's absorbed his training as regards coordination and multitasking.

Then fingers start pushing into him and he can't think about anything much, not any more. One - barely noticeable, he's so fucking loose from the tongue-fuck - then two. Harry pets him gently, hands on his ribs and stroking his belly, and up to the third finger it's nothing unusual. Harry rarely bothers fingering him before sex, on his own request; a lot of lube and a slow start and it's fine, more than fine, to be opened up on the thick head of Harry's cock. Eggsy is a _lot_ more thorough, occasionally against light protests and accusations of being a fucking tease. What's new, though, is how _deep_ he's pushing. Merlin feels the second row of knuckles press into him, and now he feels the stretch as his fingers inevitably spread toward their base. The burn is incredible. He imagines the ring of muscle like an elastic band, radiating heat as it's stretched. He hisses softly and Eggsy goes still.

"Merlin, y'arite?"

"Give us another," he says.

"When you're ready," Harry corrects softly, and he's speaking to Eggsy, not Merlin. Merlin's silently grateful that there's a third party with his foot hovering on the brake, because he feels like his is lashed to the accelerator.

Eggsy rocks his hand for a while, a slow sawing motion, and Merlin doesn't realise he's inching a little further in with every push until he feels the thin web between ring and little fingers pressing against his rim. It slides against his overhot skin as Eggsy _s l o w l y_ twists his wrist and makes him see stars.

He cries out, thick and loud, vocalising in a slur of noise. 

The fingers retreat until his arse is clinging to the tips and he almost panics - _don't pull out, don't you **fucking** stop_ resting on the tip of his tongue - but then there's the brief relief of more cool lube and he finally feels the nudge of a fourth, shorter finger following the others inside him. He's panting quietly, soft and shallow, eyes closed for the most part. When they open he can see Harry under him, watchful, pupils dilated. Hands gentle on his arms, his hips, his thighs.

"Tell us how it feels, Eggsy," Harry murmurs.

"Weird," Eggsy says breathlessly. "Fuckin' _tight_ goin' in, and...all soft inside, _fuck_. Can you - more?"

"More," Merlin whispers, and his brow sinks down onto Harry's shoulder and Harry automatically cradles the back of his head. It feels like an anchor. A reminder that the rest of his body exists. Distantly he can hear Eggsy breathing heavily.

More happens. The stretch _hurts_ and the pain hasn't somehow transmuted into pleasure but he's come unhitched from the part of him that instinctively says pain is bad, is to be cursed over and flinched away from. This is the hurt of a long run, a deep massage, a hard fuck. His hole feels like his lips or his fingertips, hyper-aware of even the smallest sensation. He can feel Eggsy's bones under his skin, the joints: _distal interphalangeal, proximal interphalangeal, metacarpophalangeal--_

The base of his four fingers, the hard ridges of his knuckles under the smooth slippery latex. But it's only there for a moment and then his body can't resist, swallowing until he feels the outward spread of his thumb stopping it.

Harry kisses Merlin's temple. "Alright?" he asks quietly, and the volume is adjusted for all three of them.

"Mary, Jesus and Joseph, _yes_."

For a while - he suspects Harry and Eggsy are having some sort of _\- Should I...? - No, not yet_ silent conversation over his head - nothing happens except his acceptance of being impaled. He's intensely aware of his body in some ways - he can perfectly make out the chambers of his own heart, feel, he can hear the rattle of his ribs with the impact of his pulse, he can feel the air swelling his lungs - but not others. He still knows about the weight of Harry's hand at the back of his head but he can't really _feel_ it any more. He isn't hard - didn't even really start out hard - but he doesn't care. Sensation is all internal now. 

"Please," he hears himself saying, "please."

"You want us to stop or keep goin'?"

"Keep goin'."

Eggsy doesn't do more or less at first, just _different_. Fractional rolls of his wrist, a very slight in-out sawing that makes him tremble and curse. He's getting past the point of feeling delicate. The muscle feels _exercised_ now; resilient. The marathon-pain is still there but it's accompanied by the sense that he could just pick himself up and keep running.

The hand drags out, maybe an inch, and then when it slips back in he feels the thumb tucked into the cradle of his four fingers. At first it makes no difference, just a hollow space being filled, and then the opposition of his thumb to his other fingers makes itself known along with the thick mound of muscle at the base. The hand finally feels like a _fist_ in that he feels like he's being slowly, astonishingly _punched open_. 

"You're alright, love," Harry whispers, "you're alright," and it's only then that he becomes cognisant of the fact that Harry's shoulder is wet with tears. He's not crying. He knows that. It's just everything in his head desperately seeking a physical outlet. 

"Don't stop," Merlin says, "don't stop, I can _fuckin'_ take it."

"Feels like you're gonna rip," Eggsy whispers, and the _I don't wanna be responsible for that, thanks_ is clear enough in his tone. "You sure it's okay?"

"I'm sure. Come _on_."

More lube, cool and sloppy around his arsehole. A slow, fractional fucking - in by two millimetres, out by one, in by two - and after a while the inevitable happens. His body stops trying to force out and instead draws _in_ as Eggsy's hand narrows. He can feel the tremors in his fingers, the flex of muscle and bone in his wrist, as keenly as if he's controlling it himself.

"Shit." Eggsy sounds awed and traumatised at the same time. "Oh my God. It's all in there. I - _fuck_."

It doesn't feel like sex right now. It _could_ , he's not numb to the now-constant light pressure against his _everything_ , but right now the overriding sensation is simply of _openness_. Of vulnerability that would be terrifying, if not for the fact that Harry's whispering sweet nothings into his ear and there are three hands on his body, running over his skin, embracing him in constant contact which he appreciates even if he isn't processing it properly. 

"Fuckin' amazing," Eggsy mutters.

"I'm going to touch you now," Harry says. "Would you like that?"

He nods. "Aye."

Harry strokes his perineum first, tracing a fingertip down from his hole to his balls. It expands his body's horizons, brings him back into awareness of his skin and his limbs and his cock. Harry strokes him slowly, hand slippery with leaked lube, and Merlin feels his cock getting firm and thick against his carefully tended fingers.

He doesn't realise he's rocking his hips until Eggsy starts to move in response, just tiny little counterpoints that stroke every nerve with wet velvet and make his prostate buzz. It's too much and not enough and oh Christ, fuck, _fuck_ , harder, _fuck me_ , he's either saying it or thinking it but he doesn't know or care. He's clenching so tight around Eggsy's wrist he's pretty sure the poor bastard's going to need physio afterwards. 

He comes, shuddering, half-hard cock jerking and blurting spunk over Harry's skin even though his orgasm isn't really _there_. It's his entire body lighting up suddenly, his veins sparking like circuits as electricity overwhelms them. Everything goes incandescent and bright -- and then deeply, sweetly dark.

He's so much wet clay between them. Eggsy slowly withdraws, leaving his body hollow and aching; from a long way away he hears the plastic sound of the glove being stripped away. Four strong arms ease him down onto his side, sandwiched gently between two strong bodies just in time for the post-adrenaline shivering to start, and Eggsy starts mouthing gently at his neck and telling him how incredible he was and he supposes that being treated like he's fragile is, _occasionally_ , not so very terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently 'not another two weeks' means 'three weeks' so I'm not going to jinx it again by trying to estimate when the next update comes. Next time: Eggsy POV and beyond that I'm not entirely sure!


End file.
